


Diary Entries

by tremblingstockings



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bedwetting, F/M, Omorashi, female omorashi, male omorashi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-13 00:02:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16881783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tremblingstockings/pseuds/tremblingstockings
Summary: Diary entries of a woman who pulls continuous pranks on her husband.





	Diary Entries

April 20, 2016  
Not feeling very great. My husband has put my heart in an odd whirr of emotions. Despite his light blue eyes and dreamy curls of hair making my heart flutter now and again, his voice no longer soothes me. It makes me feel rather vulnerable. Things have been fine until that one date night. All was lovely but that next morning I woke up to my own soaked sheets. It was clammy and sticky and mortifying, I couldn’t look at him that day. He was surely disappointed. At first, he didn’t say anything about it, which was only somewhat comforting. But lately he’s teased and teased and I get nervous every night lying down next to him.  
I won’t have it. It’s time that things get fair. It’s time for revenge.

April 21, 2016  
Revenge may be petty and wrong, but it sure is sweet. I can’t help but blush as I write while he showers. I left no evidence and made a clean victory. Ah, my poor baby… But I couldn’t help it. The water was perfectly warmed to feel like the real thing, and pouring it on him while he slept was exhilarating! The glistening fabric of the crotch of his sweatpants and how that felt under my fingertips is something that won’t be forgotten. This morning was lovelier than ever. I had to cover my mouth from my constant giggling while my back was turned. I waited for his soft groans of waking up. I leaned over him as I watched his long eyelashes flutter to lift and reveal his tired blue eyes. I decided to point him to reality as he recognized it.  
He could only mutter, “Wh-what?” as I brushed my fingers through his thick hair.  
I cooed “Wake up, honey. Are you ok? The bed is all wet…”  
As if I had no idea until now…  
I should be an actress.  
I could have teased him, like he teased me, but I wanted him to understand what kind of person I am. Not pathetic: loving. I want this to be a lesson.  
His eyes widened and he blushed as he sat up and looked down at his soaked sweatpants and the soaked sheets. I felt a guilty thrill watching him touch the fabric and mutter to himself. He just looked so cute, so vulnerable, and so tastefully wet. I almost wanted to just kiss him and tell him that everything was ok, but I had to restrain myself. This was a lesson I was teaching, and he was not innocent.  
Before he could say something worriedly to me, I told him not to worry and that I would do the laundry while he washed up. He looked more confused than anything. As he got up to walk to the bathroom, he kept pitifully glancing to the sheets.  
Oh, the fun is just beginning sweetheart. The fun is just beginning. 

April 22, 2016  
I couldn’t help watching him today. Every now and again he appears to want to say something to me but doesn’t. He can’t now. He can’t make any types of bedwetting remarks to me anymore! I even prodded to see if he could tease, saying something about how I just had too much to drink and was so full. He only could stiffly nod.  
I’ve done it. He seems to have learned.  
And yet I’m almost not satisfied. I want to do it again tonight.  
Oh what I’d give to feel those warm wet pants of his and to see his cute, blushing and surprised face every morning. I’d live to have that thrill again. But no, I shall restrain tonight. Maybe, tomorrow… Just one more night… I want just one more night of him bedwetting, and feeling what I had felt.  
One more morning of that sweet, sweet, humbleness…

 

April 23, 2016  
He went to the doctor today and told me that nothing was wrong with him. He is puzzled. He’s been on Google for at least an hour trying to figure out what could be wrong with him.  
Oh you poor thing. Oh you poor naïve thing.  
I wish I knew why my bed was wet that morning so long ago too… You must feel worried. You must feel emasculated… Don’t worry sweetheart. You’re stronger than you know.  
I wish I could tell you that, like how I had to tell myself.  
I hope your peers are encouraging, for I don’t wish to break you…  
He came home early that night. He usually goes out to drink with his friends. I asked him what happened to that plan and he just shook his head and looked at that ground. Have you told anyone? You can confide in me, love. You can confide in me. But maybe do that another night, for tonight, I want to see you wet again.  
Forgive me, I can’t help myself.  


April 24, 2016  
I am a whirr of emotions! This man of mine!  
The morning was wonderful. He fell asleep last night in his jeans, which were even tastier looking wet than the sweatpants! I almost wanted to have him wake up with me sitting on top of that warm wet fabric, but he could think that I was the wetter and all of this would be for nothing. He covered his face this time and muttered how he couldn’t believe it. He asked what he should do as he lay, looking up at me, his eyebrows raised nervously. I told him to just relax.  
“If I relax I might wet myself!”  
Those words that sent a chill up my spine continue to echo in my mind even now.  
But then the afternoon came. I walked into my room shortly after lunch to see him holding up my diary, standing and looking at me firmly. He asked if I had something I wanted to share with him. I froze. I wanted to run. I started to stammer before him nervously. He was no longer humbled from me in that moment. I once again was the mouse of this cat-and-mouse routine. I confessed that I did it. That I made him think he wet the bed. He walked up to me stiffly, and I expected him to unleash his thoughts on how worried I made him and how I hurt his pride, and instead I felt his arms gently around me.  
“I’m sorry.” He said tenderly.  
He told me that he read how I felt about him teasing me for the wetting and felt bad, and that he understood what I had done.  
I apologized as well for my vengeance and he chuckled and told me that he was just happy nothing was wrong with him. He then confessed something, starting to blush. He told me that my bed-wetting was cute. He just couldn’t get over how cute I was when I woke up that morning and that he didn’t want me to think he was silly. So he teased me, thinking that’d change his mind on how he felt about it. No matter how much he said I was silly, he still found it cute on the inside. I was a little mad, but I was just as guilty: I made him think he was wet twice!  
He then asked why I had him “wet” twice. He said my revenge was hardly fair because he didn’t look half as cute as me. 

Oh contraire.  
So that’s when I blushed and told him that I really liked it. We both stood there awkward and red-faced for what felt like hours before we embraced and I could honestly rest in his arms again. I can sleep now feeling assured that I’m not pathetic, and he knows that he isn’t either.  
All is well. 

 

April 25, 2016  
Another wet morning, but it’s not from water this time.  
I looked over as I felt the wet sheets behind me and lifted the blanket to see the crotch of his dark grey uniform pants still spreading a dark stain. I cautiously reached down and decided to feel it, getting a thrill as I heard the trickling and felt the warmth and could even smell it somewhat. This was the real deal. He rolled to his side, causing it to cascade down his thigh and puddled there on the sheet. I wanted to wake him up, but my eyes were fixated on his crotch as my husband lay there, wetting his pants in his sleep. I got up, ready to nudge him awake and he reached out his hand and touched my sleeve. He gave a low soft grumble and shifted his legs. He opened his eyes, the blue color looking light and soft and he murmured:  
“I’m sorry… I had an accident…”  
The warmth in my face still hasn’t gone away from that line.  
I smiled at him gently, now that we were truly even, and I sat down next to him and rolled him over on his back. He bit his lip and I sat on top of his crotch and started wetting myself. I couldn’t help giggling at how it felt to empty my bladder right there into my pajama pants on top of him, and giggling at his widened eyes as he felt my warmth as well.  
I put my finger to my bottom lip flirtingly and muttered, “I’m having an accident too…”  
He and I just giggled at the mess we were making, like children being naughty in spite, and he pulled me down and kissed me between our laughter. I’ll never forget how warm his crotch and face were, and how calm my heart grew. I never thought he could make me excited to wet myself. We plan on doing some laundry soon after we shower together, but that will be when he wakes up from falling right back to sleep.  
Perhaps wetting the bed isn’t so bad after all…  
It sure makes for fun mornings.


End file.
